


From the Flames Rise the Dragons

by icedragon822



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedragon822/pseuds/icedragon822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From boyhood, Prince Aegon Targaryen has been hidden from the world. He has been raised to be a king, and is expected to someday take back the Iron Throne of Westeros from the usurpers who stole it from him and killed his family. However, he is not the last Targaryen in the world, and there are rumors of a young, beautiful queen in the East, with three dragons all of her own. Aegon decides to leave his poleboat and make his way to this mysterious queen, to see her dragons for himself, and ultimately aims to win a dragon of his own... and perhaps even the queen's heart, with it.</p><p>AU where Prince Aegon does not take Tyrion's advice to go to Westeros on his own, but goes to Daenerys instead.</p><p>The world and the characters all belong to the great George RR Martin, I am simply a fan who had this story in my head that wanted to come out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Griffin Lord I - 288 AC

Jon Connington had always mistrusted Lord Varys. As he watched him in Small Council meetings in the Red Keep, and now, years later across the Narrow Sea, sitting across from him in the cabin of a common galley, Jon found that the eunuch truly was like a spider. He was constantly weaving webs with his rumors, his plots, his secrets, and his lies, and trapping kings, lords, and smallfolk alike within them. And now he’s trapped me, as if I were a common housefly.

Jon stared at Varys as he sipped on his wine, sweet and tasting of the Arbor. He wiped his mouth and toyed with the rim of his cup. “My lord, you must be terribly mistaken to seek me out. I lost everything that I had in Westeros. And now you want me to give up this new life that I have made for myself?” 

He had indeed lost all that he held dear- his lands, his wealth, his title, and most of all, his silver prince. Rhaegar, he thought. Rhaegar, with his long silver hair, purple eyes, brooding tempers, and sweet voice. I would lose it for you, again, my prince. I would lose it all for you. But he had built some semblance of a life here, across the Narrow Sea. He had spent the past five years serving gallantly with the Golden Company, that sellsword band of Blackfyres, bastards, and exiled knights. A place for men like me, with a good sword hand but no one and nothing left to fight for. He had built up a respectful reputation in the Golden Company, and rumors among the men suggested that someday he may even lead it. It was not the life he wished for, but it was a good enough life, far better than he hoped for or even deserved after the mess in Westeros.

Lord Varys smiled coyly. “Why, my dear Lord Jon, do not focus on what you will lose, but what you will gain. Prince Rhaegar may be dead, yes, but his son, his son remains.”

Aegon. My prince’s son. Jon still was having difficulty wrapping his head around that statement. Prince Rhaegar’s son was supposed to have been dead these five years, slaughtered along with his mother and sister by Lannister monsters who scaled the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast. Just a babe, ripped from his mother’s breast only to have his head dashed against a wall. Lord Varys assured him that that babe was not the prince, simply a common baby bought from a man with too many mouths to feed. The real Prince Aegon was here, Varys said, a little boy soundly asleep on a cot in the corner.

Jon had met the boy briefly, before he had fallen asleep. He has the Targaryen look, that is for certain. He was a comely child, with silver-blonde hair, large lilac-colored eyes framed by long lashes, and a shy smile. “Magister Illyrio says that he’s a sweet boy, and so smart, like his father,” Varys had told him. “But he also has the makings of a knight, that’s for certain. Quite a rambunctious little lad. He doesn’t like to sit still for long, and fancies himself to be Aemon the Dragonknight. Sometimes he even pretends to be Prince Rhaegar.” The last statement made Jon’s heart contract. The little boy had no father, not anymore. His mother and sister were gone, too, and his uncle and aunt were living a transient life, always in danger of assassination. Aegon was all of six years old, but was a little boy alone in a harsh world. I can help him. I can keep him safe. I can redeem myself. I failed the father, but I can save the son.

Jon looked at Varys again. “You say you would make him a king.”

“Not a king, my lord. The king. The king of the Seven Kingdoms who sits upon the Iron Throne. It may be ten, fifteen, or twenty years. But the Baratheons and Lannisters cannot hold the Seven Kingdoms forever. There are rumblings under the surface that will break through, I am sure of it. I will make sure of it. And then our Young Dragon will sweep in and save the Realm. The smallfolk will cheer him and love him for it.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “How do you know he will make a good king? He is a boy of six. What if he has the frail health of his mother? He’s too small and skinny for my liking. Or what if he’s as mad as his grandfather?” The potential for the Targaryen madness frightened Jon. If tales were to be believed, young Aegon’s uncle Viserys was as mad as his father had been. I pity the Princess Daenerys, he thought, his mind wandering to another small child alone in a harsh world. 

Varys smiled sweetly. “My lord, he will make a good king because we will raise him to be a good king. We will teach him to speak and read in many languages, to be learned in history and sums, to be a skilled swordsman and courageous in battle, and, most importantly, to put the needs of others before his own. It is a blessing, truly, that he is being raised outside of the Red Keep. As for the madness, well… perhaps we can prevent that. He will not be entitled. You will take him well away from here. He will not be raised as a prince, as his father, uncle, and grandfather were, but as a common person who can relate to other common people. “

“And what of his uncle and aunt?” 

Varys glanced at Jon sadly, shaking his head. “Too dangerous. No one knows about the boy, save for you, me, Magister Illyrio, and a few trusted others. Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys are always hunted by Robert’s assassins, and while I try to do what I can to protect them, I cannot assure their safety. And I am sure you have heard tales of Prince Viserys’s temper… quite a nasty thing. There have been incidents… Too much of his father in him, I’m afraid. I want to keep our little Aegon away from that. Mayhaps, someday, I could arrange for Prince Viserys to have a… shall we say… accident, and spirit away our sweet princess and bring her to you. Once she has flowered there could be a wedding, uniting aunt and nephew and renewing the Targaryen dynasty.” Varys giggled. “Wouldn’t it be sweet to have more little silver-haired babes with us as we help our prince conquer his kingdom?” 

Jon gave a noncommittal nod and took another sip of wine. “And if I were to take the boy, where would we go?”

Varys smiled again. Gods, I hate that smile. “My lord, I think that we both know that you would be hard pressed not to take the child. I have already arranged it all with Myles Toyne. Toyne will tell everyone who will listen that he caught you stealing from the Golden Company, and that he dismissed you in disgrace. Rumors will fly that in your grief, you drank yourself to death…”

Jon interrupted the eunuch by slamming his hand on the table so hard that the cups and dishes rattled, waking Prince Aegon with a start. The boy stared sleepily at the two men before rising from the bed and moving to the floor, where he began playing quietly with carved wooden figures in the shapes of knights and horses. 

“Do you think that I have shit for honor?” Jon hissed angrily through his teeth. “I have nothing but my reputation, and you aim to take that from me as well?”

“Only for a time, my lord, only for a time. When our prince takes back what is his by rights, you will get what is yours- your land, your titles, your wealth, and yes, your honor.”

Jon glared at Varys. “Honor is not so easily won back, Spider. I may have my lands and title returned to me, but I guarantee you I won’t win back my honor. Just because you have no honor nor any desire for it does not mean that I do not value mine.”

“Ah, you wound me!” Varys exclaimed in mock horror. “Prince Aegon, did you hear that? Lord Jon would rather keep his honor than to help you win your throne. Isn’t that sad.”

The boy looked up from his toys and sniffed. “I’m not Prince Aegon, I’m Aemon the Dragonknight. The Dragonknight never had a throne.”

“See? The boy needs you,” Varys had risen from the table and come to Jon’s side. “He knows not who he is, nor what he can become. Help him. With your help he can become a great king, the king that Rhaegar would have been. The king that Westeros needs.”

Jon was pained. He was caught between his life and his honor, and this child who he had just met, a little boy who reminded him so much of his silver prince. He gritted his teeth and look Lord Varys in the eye. “Bugger my honor. I will take him. I will help him, as I could not help his father.”

Varys gave Jon another one of his sickly sweet smiles. “Oh, my lord, I knew you could be persuaded! As I was saying before your, ah, outburst… with people thinking you safely dead, you and our prince will make your way to the Rhoyne. I have a poleboat waiting for you there… the Shy Maid, it is called. Nothing fancy, but adequate, quite adequate. The captain is a man called Yandry, a fine fellow.”

“And what do I tell people?” Jon asked. “Both of us are thought to be dead… and the boy looks a Targaryen.”

“What was the sigil of your house, my lord? A griffin, was it? Call yourself Griff, then, and the boy… Young Griff. Tell people that he is your son, and that your wife died in childbed. And, yes, he does look a Targaryen… but the Tyroshi dye their hair, couldn’t the same be done for you and the boy? A blue dye will hide the silver of his hair, and will make the purple eyes appear blue. Say your late wife was a Tyroshi, and that you two dye your hair blue in her memory.”

Jon nodded grimly and drained the last of the wine from his chalice. “And we leave when?” he asked the eunuch.

“Why, on the morrow, if possible. It will be a long journey, and you are expected at the poleboat, by several people.” Varys made his way to the door of the cabin. “This will not be the last you hear from me, my lord. We will stay in close contact. We are in this together now, you and me.” He smiled that maddening sweet smile of his again before finally exiting the cabin, leaving a heavy smell of perfume in his wake.

Jon rose from his seat and walked over to where Prince Aegon was sitting on the floor. The boy glanced up and him and let out a loud yawn. 

“We must both make our way to bed, my prince,” Jon told him, pausing to touch his soft silver-blonde locks. So like Rhaegar’s hair. “We leave early on the morrow, and have a long journey ahead of us.” 

As he picked the boy up to carry him to bed, he smiled, just a touch, as Aegon lay his head against Jon’s shoulder. My prince, Jon thought warmly. Our journey together is just beginning.


	2. The Young Dragon I

Dragons. Dragons green and white and black, flying above his head. But where did they come from? All the dragons are long dead… including me. 

And the woman… A beautiful girl, with silver-blonde hair and purple eyes. “Mayhaps we would have been married, if only you had lived… Rhaegar’s son. Much kinder and gentler than Viserys.” 

She was nude, and she was beckoning him to come to her. “With me, please. I need you. I want you. Please.” But as he came to her, and took one of her small firm breasts in his hand, she turned on him, and he was awash in fire. Dragonfire. He was burning, burning, burning…

“NO!” Prince Aegon Targaryen gasped loudly as he woke with a start and hit his head on the wooden beam above his bed.

“Gods be damned!” he cried, rubbing the sore spot just above his hairline. There would be a lump there by midday, he was sure of it.

“Is something amiss, my prince?” his foster father called from his own bed across the cabin. “You were thrashing about in your sleep, and cried out just before you woke.”

“Nothing more than a dream, Griff.” Aegon could see the early light of dawn filtering in through the small windows of the cabin, and he heaved himself out of bed to make his way to a chamber pot in a corner of the room. 

He glanced back at Griff. “You make me ill when call me ‘prince.’ Some prince I am. I’d wager those two Baratheon boys in King’s Landing aren’t spending their days grunting and sweating on a damned poleboat.” Lannister boys, more like. The bastards of the Queen and her twin, who had slain his grandfather the king, if rumors Griff had heard from the Seven Kingdoms were true. 

He grunted as he pulled his member from his breeches and loosed a long stream of piss into the chamber pot. The memory of the beautiful young woman had left him hard as a rock, and it made pissing uncomfortable. Luckily he had not woken to find his thigh sticky and drenched in his own seed, as was common when he was younger.

“No, but you’ll be a better king than either of them could ever dream of being,” Griff answered him. 

Aegon glanced over to look at his foster father. Lord Jon Connington had been with him these past eleven years, and had been as good of a father to him as he could have wanted. Lord Jon had changed little in those eleven years; some more wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, and Aegon knew the blue dye hid grey hairs beginning to mix with the red. But he was still as strong, hearty, and kind as ever, and for that Aegon was grateful.

The young prince made his way over to a bucket of cold water, where he glanced at his reflection. He had seen seventeen name days, and had been a man grown for a year now, but he still looked a boy. His cheeks were as smooth as a girl’s, and although he trained daily at swords with Duck, and worked hard upon the Shy Maid, he was only leanly muscular, and looked skinny as a stick. At least I have some height about me, he thought. That was true enough. He was as tall as Griff, and still long and lanky, which Griff said meant that he had more to grow. I wonder if I’m yet as tall as my father. As a boy, he loved hearing of how much he looked like Rhaegar. The father he never knew had been his idol, as much as Aemon the Dragonknight or Ryam Redwyne or any of the other famed heroes of Westeros. I’ve always dreamed of a father I’ve never known and a land I don’t remember.

He splashed his face with the cold water, which gave him a jolt and washed the remaining sleep from his body. “I’ll be needing to dye my hair again soon, my lord,” he told Griff, who had made his way over to the chamber pot for his morning piss. “The silver is beginning to show through.”

Aegon had always been told that he looked like a Targaryen. He would hardly have believed it himself, but for the silver-blonde roots that came in when he hadn’t dyed his hair in a moon’s turn. The blue dye that he had worn since he was six disguised the characteristic hair, and made his eyes, which were truly a light purple, appear blue. Griff told him that his elder sister had looked like their mother’s family, the Martells, and was dark of hair and eyes. Aegon had just been a babe when he was spirited away by Lord Varys, and had no memory of his mother or his sister Rhaenys, who had been killed by Lord Tywin Lannister’s men. The monsters. He was told that his aunt Daenerys looked like him, though, like a true Targaryen. Had we married, she would have given me a host of silver-headed children. But she was gone, too, across the Dothraki Sea. She had been sold like a common slave by her brother Viserys, and wedded to one of the Dothraki horse lords. Aegon heard that Viserys would have done anything for a crown, and a crown he got- Daenerys’s husband poured a pot of molten gold atop his head. Viserys was mad. The Spider wrote that he had it coming for him anyway. But with Viserys dead, and Daenerys gone, it meant that Aegon was truly alone, a Targaryen against the world. He was supposed to be a king, but who knew that a king could feel so alone?

Aegon made his way to the deck of the Shy Maid. He had spent most of his life on the pole boat, travelling up and down the Rhoyne with his foster father and a host of other trusted companions. It hadn’t been the most glamorous upbringing. It could be hard, dirty work, and even frightening at times. But Griff said that it would all help to make him a better king, once he won the Iron Throne. IF I win the Iron Throne. 

Here, on deck, no one ever referred to him as “Aegon” or “prince”- it was risky, far too risky. Here, he was simply Young Griff, the son of Griff and a Tyroshi woman who had died in childbed. He truly liked being Young Griff. When he was Young Griff, the pressures that he sometimes felt melted a way. He no longer had to worry about being a king, or how he was going to get to Westeros and win his rightful throne. As Young Griff, he could be a crew member, a knight-in-training, a student… anything he wished. Anything but a prince. 

Aegon sauntered over to where he saw Septa Lemore and Haldon Halfmaester, his two tutors, speaking in hurried whispers. A soiled septa and a maester who never completed his chain- what good hands I’m in! he thought with a scoff. “You two seem to be right close this morning. Has Haldon fucked you at last, good septa?”

Lemore, who was of good humor, laughed and gave Aegon a small punch on the arm. Haldon, however, was not nearly as amused. 

“You presume wrongly, boy. We were discussing a letter that came from Lord Varys this morning. It appears our plans have changed.”

“Our plans are always changing,” Aegon replied nonchalantly, picking up a stale piece of bread and sausage to break his fast. “First the Spider told us that my uncle Viserys was to die, and I was to make Daenerys my queen. Then I heard that the match was off, and that Daenerys had married a Dothraki khal and Viserys was planning to invade Westeros with a hundred-thousand Dothraki screamers, and I was to join up with the Golden Company and be the hero of the Seven Kingdoms. Last I heard, Daenerys was pregnant with her horse lord’s whelp and Viserys lays rotting somewhere in Vaes Dothrak. Meanwhile, I stay here on this damned boat, always letting my life be determined by the actions of others.”

“Again, you presume wrongly,” Haldon answered. “We have news of your aunt Daenerys. She’s a widow, now, and her child was dead in her womb.”

Aegon shrugged. “How unfortunate.” He had wanted Daenerys as a wife, once. He had heard that she was comely, and while still a boy he had dreamed of kissing her and bedding her and making her his queen. And of course, all of the silver-haired children that they would have… but that dream was long-shattered. I saw her last night, as I slept. I’m sure it was her. But that was just a dream, as much of a dream as our wedding…

“That’s not all Lord Varys says, however. She has dragons now.”

“Dragons? She can’t have dragons. The dragons have been dead for over one-hundred years.” Aegon was perplexed. But I dreamed of dragons too…

“Well, she does have dragons. Three, if the rumors are to be believed. I had heard the rumors, of course. Dragons on the Dothraki Sea, dragons in Qarth, dragons in Slaver’s Bay. But I never believed them to be true, until now… but it makes no matter.” 

Aegon spat off the side of the boat angrily. “Dragons… if there are even dragons, why would SHE get them? She’s not the true dragon, the heir to Rhaegar and the Iron Throne. She’s NOTHING, just some horse lord’s whore. I am the Young Dragon. I am EVERYTHING.” He stomped his foot angrily. He was in a bad temper now. Griff warned him against his tempers. Don’t play the boy with me, Aegon. You are a dragon, not a simpering child. 

He glared at Haldon. “And what would the Spider have me do about these dragons? They are hers, not mine. And they are half a world away. I have my sellswords and my friends in the Reach. I have no need of dragons.”

Haldon glared back at Aegon angrily. “And you presume that you can win the Iron Throne with just some sellswords and a few Targaryen loyalists? The Seven Kingdoms may be in shambles, but an ill-tempered princeling who is as green as grass and still half a boy is nothing compared to Tywin Lannister. Varys also says that Robb Stark, the Young Wolf who called himself the King in the North, was slaughtered by the aged Walder Frey. Wouldn’t that be a pretty song? The Young Wolf and the Young Dragon, the boys who would be kings… both dead before their time.

“Dragons could make a world of difference for you. Instead of waiting five years or more, we could have the Iron Throne within two years. Wouldn’t that be a pretty prize?”

Aegon was having difficulty keeping his temper in check. If I had a sword I would lop his head off. He breathed deeply to calm the fire raging within him. “And how would Lord Varys have us get these dragons? If I had dragons, I would not give them up easily, and I don’t presume that our princess will, either.”

“The Princess Daenerys is a widow now, and childless. Now that her brother is dead, you are the only family that she has left. Lord Varys suggests that we make for Slaver’s Bay, to find her, and enter into a marriage alliance with her. Two Targaryens are better than one. You can start a new dynasty. I hear that she is gathering forces of her own, sellswords and, if rumors are to be believed, a whole army of Unsullied. You would have her forces, your Golden Company, and most importantly, the dragons. They may be big enough to ride within a year or two. You would be like Aegon the Conqueror come again.”

Aegon ran a hand through his hair. A marriage pact. He could not deny that it was what he always expected, always dreamed of. Daenerys had been the subject of his childhood fantasies, a vision to which he had first pleasured himself at night. She could be his, all his… and the dragons, too. A dragon of my own… like Aegon the Conqueror and all the heroes of my childhood. No, not A dragon, THREE dragons. 

He nodded to himself and looked back at the Halfmaester. “Speak of it with Griff. He will give you good council, he always has.” 

Haldon agreed. “Yes, I needs speak with Lord Jon. He’ll know what to do, what to say. But what would YOU have us do? You’re a man grown, and this is your future that we speak of.”

Aegon turned to face the water and peered into the distance, the Rhoyne travelling as far as the eye could see. What would he have them do? He led a good life here, and as things were falling apart in Westeros, he knew that his time to conquer was coming near. The boy king won’t last. I could wait a few more years to take what is mine. I won’t have as simple a life as this again. I could enjoy it while it lasts. But the thought of dragons, and of Daenerys… he had never had a woman before. He had not even been kissed. He had wanted a whore, when they were in Volantis, but Jon Connington was wroth when he found out. “The Targaryen kings who cavorted with whores helped lead to the downfall of your family. Prince Rhaegar never visited brothels, and his son will not either.” Aegon smiled to himself. I won’t need whores, if I have her. And their dragons. Most importantly, their dragons. 

He turned again to Haldon and Lemore, who were both gazing intently at him. 

“I would have us travel to the princess. It is high time that I made her my queen. It is time for me to take what is mine by rights. My dragons. My throne. We will take the Iron Throne with our dragons. With Fire and Blood.”


	3. The Griffin Lord II

“Dragons, Griff! She has dragons!” Aegon exclaimed loudly, so excited that his voice cracked as he said “dragons.”

Jon Connington had still not left the cabin for the morning by the time that the prince had bounded into the room, nearly knocking him on his rear. He’s growing fast, and still doesn’t realize how much strength he possesses. 

Despite Aegon’s excitement, Jon remained nonplussed by the news. “Are you sure that it was Lord Varys himself that told you of these dragons, and not simply some rumor you heard off another pole boat while we were docked?” He had heard more than a few outlandish rumors from sailors, both those that traversed the Rhoyne and those that travelled across the sea. “It won’t do you any good to believe a word that a sailor tells you. When I was in Myr I once heard a man say that he was sure that a dragon could be hatched by sticking a chicken’s egg into the cunt of a maiden and leaving it there for three months.”

“No, it was the Spider. He said it in writing, Haldon has the letter, I can show you…” 

Aegon ran a hand through his hair, a habit he had developed as a boy that indicated that he was feeling some sort of emotional agitation, good or bad. 

“He says I should go to her, to reveal myself to her as Prince Rhaegar’s true son, and offer to make a marriage alliance with her. The dragons could be mine Griff! MINE, could you believe it? With the Golden Company and her Unsullied and the Second Sons and the Strom Crows and the dragons… we would be unstoppable. We would have Westeros conquered in hours, not days or weeks or years. Hours!” 

Jon sighed. For all that the prince spoke about being “a man grown,” he was still little more than a boy, in looks and in temperament. He was tall enough, that was for certain, and still growing taller, but he had not yet grown his first real beard. He was as emotional as a boy, as well; he had only recently stopped crying when he faced a sadness or disappointment, and he was prone to raging tempers at the smallest provocation. Jon always cautioned him to keep his temper in check, as similar ill tempers had cost men of much greater age and talent than Aegon their lives. So unlike his father Jon thought. Rhaegar had seemed a man when he was still a boy, always calm and thoughtful, never making rash decisions out of anger or panic. Until he got it into his head that he needed that Stark girl. A rash decision that cost how many thousands of lives, and his father and son the Throne. 

“Don’t play the boy with me, Aegon. Dragons have been dead for a hundred years. Those were just rumors, nothing more.” And yet why would Lord Varys tell us about these rumors, if he did not think them important? He wants us to drop all of our planning, our years’ worth of planning to go to this girl.

Aegon was in a terrible temper now, his face red and his chest heaving.  
“I’m not playing the boy, Griff, I’m NOT! I’m being a man, a man who knows what he needs to do. I’m tired of having you and Illyrio and the Spider conspiring to put me on the Iron Throne. It is MY throne, and I will win it in the way that I want! Even Varys is encouraging it, I’ll show you the letter, he spells it all out there. Please, just read it, you’ll know how much I need this, how much I need Daenerys, how much I need these dragons. It could be ten years before I could invade the Seven Kingdoms on my own with the Golden Company, or maybe I never could, but now all we have to do is go to Meereen. Just go and see if it’s true. If it’s not, then… bugger it, we’ll come back here and go up and down the Rhoyne. Or we’ll join the Golden Company and act as sellswords or… something. I don’t know. But I just know that this will work. It will. I dreamed of dragons. I dreamed of her.”

Jon glanced at the boy quizzically. 

“Is it the dragons that may not even exist that you want, or your aunt’s cunt? If it’s a woman you want I’ll get you a woman, when we reach Volantis. A Lysene bedwarmer that won’t give you a pox, and will know how prevent your bastard from growing in her belly.” 

Jon had caught the prince trying to go to a whore in Volantis when he was barely fourteen, and had been furious. Too young to know what to look for, and like to choose one that would give him a nasty case of the pox. But Jon was also a man, who knew that by seventeen Aegon was likely to have a man’s needs. Jon remembered being seventeen, when all he wanted to do was to fight like hell and to fuck like hell. He had fought plenty, then and over the course of his life, but had never fucked. The only one I wanted was the one that I could not have. He had had to make due with a vision in his head and the touch of his own hand. 

At Jon’s words, the fire that had been driving the boy seemingly fizzled out, and was replaced with shock and embarrassment. Aegon’s face blushed a bright red.

“It’s not… no, I don’t want a woman, I don’t want a whore. I mean, I do want a woman. Daenerys, I want Daenerys, and I’ll have her… if we are married. But it’s the dragons I want most of all. The dragons, yes.”

He ran his hand through his hair, gathered his thoughts, and spoke again.

“It’s the dragons, Jon, it has to be. I remember the prophesy, the prophesy that Father was so interested in. “The dragon has three heads,” it said. He thought that the three heads were Rhaenys, and me, and a third sibling that he and mother would have had if they had lived. But what if one of the heads is Daenerys? Daenerys, me, and one other… maybe a daughter, if we were to get married?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t know, this is all so new, so sudden. I don’t know what to think. Maybe it’s nothing but a fancy, a boy’s silly fancy.” Aegon looked at his foster father with glistening eyes, and his voice shook as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “But I want to believe, because it could be the best hope that I have. You know that the dragons could make the difference between sitting on the Iron Throne and spending the rest of my life on this damned pole boat.”

Jon made his way over to the boy, and placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

“You know that I would do anything for you. You are like a son to me, the son that I’ll never have. But I want to protect you, and keep you safe. Slavers’ Bay is over 500 leagues from here, 500 dangerous leagues. What if you’re harmed on the way? What will I do then, knowing that you could be safe here?”

Aegon looked back at Jon. The blue dye typically made his eyes appear to be blue, but in that instant, Jon saw the true Targaryen purple shine in the boy’s eyes. Rhaegar’s eyes.

“I’m not safe here, or anywhere Griff, not truly. We could be accosted by river pirates or grey men, I could fall off the boat and drown, or I could drink some foul water and die of a bad belly. Even in Westeros I wouldn’t be safe. I could die in battle the day that we land upon its shore. I’m not safe, and I’m not a boy. I’m a man, and being a man means taking risks to get what you need. I need these dragons, and I need Daenerys. If I die on the way, or if I die while I’m there… then I die. But I don’t plan on dying, not if I can help it. I’ll do what I need to do. I’m my father’s son, Griff. I think you know what HE would do.”

Jon sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed them. He did know what Rhaegar would do. Rhaegar, usually so level-headed, could be as rash as a boy when it came to his prophesies. Rhaegar probably would have not waited to heed Jon’s advice, but would have already had commandeered his own way to Meereen, intent on the dragons and the prophesy. The dragon has three heads. Rhaegar thought that his children would be the heads of the dragon, his son Aegon The Prince that was Promised. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe Daenerys was a head, and SHE had the dragons.

Jon sighed. “Go to Haldon and bring me the letter. I want to read it for myself, before we make any further plans.”

Aegon’s face lit up with a smile. “So we’ll go then? To Slavers’ Bay, to Daenerys and the dragons?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself boy, I didn’t say that. I simply told you to get me the Spider’s letter.”

Aegon pumped his fist in the air, then ran to find Haldon. He was back in a moment, breathless and still smiling. “There’s another letter, just for you. Haldon didn’t open it, he said that would be inappropriate. But it’s all written there, I know it is!”

Jon look the letters from the prince’s hands. “Leave me be to read these in peace. You had your lessons yesterday… go and train with Duck today.” He gave Aegon a small smile. “I’ll expect to hear that you beat him to a bloody pulp!” He probably will, Jon thought. The boy had been beating Duck as often as not now.

Aegon laughed, seemingly back in a high mood. “I will! My skill at arms matches any knight in Westeros, I promise you that!” He loved training at arms with Ser Rolly Duckfield, the master-at-arms that Harry Strickland sent to make the prince into a proper knight. Aegon was a rangy, athletic youth who came quite naturally to swordplay, although to be honest Jon thought his archery needed much improvement. No matter, he’ll have countless archers in his service once we reach Westeros. 

After the prince left the cabin, Jon settled at a desk to read Lord Varys’s letters. The first, addressed to Haldon and the crew of the Shy Maid, was much as Aegon said it was. It detailed that, if rumors were to be believed, Princess Daenerys was making her way through Slavers’ Bay with three rapidly growing dragons at her side and thousands of Unsullied and sellswords at her service. 

“It was the eggs that Illyrio gave her as a wedding present that hatched,” Varys wrote. “We had thought them to be fossilized, no more than stone, a simple reminder of her family’s past. We had no indication that they would hatch. If we had, they would have been the boy’s. We could have saved you quite a long trip, if you want the dragons.”

The second letter, addressed for Jon alone, brought with it grave news from Westeros. The boy king Joffrey Baratheon was dead, murdered at his own wedding by poison placed in his chalice of wine. He was succeeded by his younger brother Tommen, a child of eight or nine. A bastard boy-king on the Throne, with his inept bitch of a mother as a regent. Westeros is as weak as it will ever be, Jon thought. If not for these dragons, mayhaps they could gather with the Golden Company, to plan an invasion while the realm was still bleeding. The letter also stated that Tywin Lannister was dead, shot in the bowels by a crossbow at the hands of his dwarf son, Tyrion. I wish that I was there to see it, I’m sure it was quite a droll sight to see Tywin Lannister dead upon a privy. Tywin’s death removed the last competent mind that the Lannisters had, that was for certain. 

“I have found that Tyrion Lannister, despite being a dwarf and a kinslayer, has one of the sharpest minds in Westeros. You need a sharp mind, Lord Jon, to help our prince to win his throne. I have rescued the Imp from a certain death, and plan to have him delivered to you. He and Illyrio will be travelling to meet you upon the Rhoyne, after which you will make your way to Volantis. A ship will be waiting for you there, to take you to Slavers’ Bay to meet our princess.”

So the cheesemonger was bringing him an imp at the direction of the Spider. Interesting, Jon thought, very interesting. Varys was correct- they needed a sharp mind, if they wanted to win Westeros.

The more he thought about it, the better the plan seemed. Westeros was bleeding after the War of the Five Kings, and was falling apart at the seams. It would certainly not be held together by a weak child king. If they had the dragons, and the Princess Daenerys and her forces… Westeros could be Aegon’s. He and Daenerys could establish a new Targaryen dynasty, a dynasty that would help the Seven Kingdoms become great again. The prince was right- they needed Daenerys and her dragons. 

Jon made his way to the deck of the ship. Haldon and Lemore were standing to the ship’s side, watching as Aegon and Rolly Duckfield battled with swords upon the shore. Each of Duck’s parries was met with one of Aegon’s own. Both were covered with a sheen of sweat. Finally, after a particularly hard hit from Duck in the stomach, Aegon crumpled to the ground, yelling “I yield, I yield!”

Duck laughed, and pulled Aegon up off of the ground. “Well met! You nearly had me, there.”

Aegon, breathless but seemingly still in a high mood, didn’t let the defeat turn him into a foul temper, as was often the case. He laughed heartily, hit Duck on the rear with his sword, then stripped off his clothes and waded into the water to bathe the sweat off his body. As he stood naked in the shallow water, Jon noted that Aegon’s body was changing, looking less and less like a boy’s and more like a young man’s. While his chest was still smooth and hairless, he now had tufts of silver-blonde hair under his arms and around his manhood, and while he was still lean, the muscles in his shoulders, arms, and stomach were becoming more well-defined. Perhaps his first true beard will appear soon, as well, Jon mused. Like or not, the young prince was turning into a man physically, and this new quest would cement his entry into manhood. 

“Young Griff!” Jon called loudly. “Come to the boat, I’d like to speak to our crew.”

Aegon smiled brightly at his foster father, clothed himself upon the shore, and climbed upon the boat. He looked the epitome of a youth at his prime: bright eyes, easy smile, water droplets dripping from his hair onto his handsome face. So much like Rhaegar Jon thought fondly.

When the rest of the crew had gathered, Jon cleared his throat and began to speak.

“As I’m sure you all are aware by now, our plans have changed. We won’t be traversing up and down the Rhoyne for much longer, I’m afraid. Haldon and Duck, I want you to travel on the road, where in a few days’ time you will meet the litter of Magister Illyrio. He’s bringing a new friend to us, a friend that can help us greatly in our quest for the throne. Bring him to us, then we will set off, as we always do, south towards Volantis. But once we reach Volantis, we will not make our way back up the river, but will get on a ship, a ship that will take us to Slavers’ Bay. We will meet our Dragon Queen there, and we will help Young Griff here claim what is his by rights. His dragons, his throne.”

He expected Aegon to whoop, or to smile at him brightly. Instead, the prince solemnly looked his foster father full in the face. “I will claim what is mine, Griff, I swear it to you. With all of the power of my being, I will claim what is mine. With steel and with arrows. And with Fire and Blood.”


	4. The Spoiled Septa I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We find out who the mysterious Septa Lemore REALLY is. Not as much dialogue in this chapter- it's a bit more explanatory, but every good story needs explanatory chapters, right?

It had been more than fifteen years since Ashara Dayne had died. If rumors were to be believed, she had thrown herself into the sea, utterly grief stricken after the death of her brother, the great Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Or perhaps it was the stillborn daughter she mourned, or even, as a few brave souls dared to whisper, the bastard son of Eddard Stark, ripped from her breast and taken far away from Starfall, to Winterfell to be raised. 

Septa Lemore smiled to herself each time that one of these rumors passed her ears (fewer and fewer times in recent years, after more people began forgetting who Ashara Dayne was, and especially after she left Westeros for the East) because none were true, not even the one thought to be fact. For Ashara Dayne was not dead, far from it. She was alive and well, and Lemore knew this because she WAS Ashara Dayne.

She thought it a clever guise. No one would expect the Lady Ashara, tall, dark, and breathtakingly beautiful, with her purple eyes and ready smile and love of laughter and dancing, to be a plain and pious septa living aboard a ramshackle poleboat on the Rhoyne. 

It was Lord Varys’s idea, like most things seemed to be. He had come to her a few moons after King’s Landing had fallen, dressed as a common peasant. She hadn’t recognized him.

Ashara had been in quite a state at the time of the eunuch’s visit. It was not long after Lord Eddard Stark had brought her Arthur’s bones and the famed family greatsword, Dawn, back from the godsforsaken place in Dorne where he had died, as he had always wanted, in battle with his sword in his hand. She had cried during the entire visit, for it reminded her of how much she had lost; her best friend Elia of Dorne, her brother, so many other good friends who could never been replaced. It was the constant tears that gave spread to the rumors that she was in love with Lord Eddard, and that she was somehow connected with the baby that he had brought to Starfall with him. Ashara paid little mind to the boy; Lord Eddard said that it was his bastard son, nothing more. She was surprised by this admission, as Lord Eddard was married, with a new trueborn son living with his wife at Riverrun. Besides, fathering a bastard seemed wholly out of character for a man who had been too shy to ask Ashara to dance at the Tourney at Harrenhall, which seemed so long ago. But then, it made no matter. She had arranged for the child to be fed by a local wetnurse, called Wylla, and only briefly noted the baby’s long Stark face and steely grey eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at him more, because he reminded her too much of another baby, another Stark bastard…

And then of course, Lord Stark’s visit also reminded her of the most painful losses that she had endured. Brandon Stark, Eddard’s brother, was only her lover for a short time, but she had loved him deeply and passionately. As they lay naked together after their love-making, his seed on her belly and on her thighs, he whispered promises to her- “We’ll marry, my love, we will. I’ll cast aside everything for you. I’ll cast aside Catelyn, no matter what my father says. Eddard can marry her; he’s so dutiful he’d ride a horse off a cliff if my father asked it of him. I want you, not her. That Tully fish has nothing on my one-and-only star.” Those words made her heart swell. He loved her. Her and only her.

But all of his sweet words and promises were for naught. Brandon had died shortly afterwards, killed by the Mad King and leaving Ashara nothing but a bastard in her belly. The baby made her panic- she had assumed that they would marry, whether his father agreed to it or not. She had done well with concealing her pregnancy, wearing loose gowns and binding her growing stomach and breasts. One of her most trusted servants had promised to take the babe when it was born, claiming it as her own child. No one would know, no one would question it. But even that was taken from her; the baby, a beautiful girl with Ashara’s dark hair and Brandon’s long face, was born dead. Even though she had never planned on raising the child, Ashara was crushed for the little girl who would never have the chance to live, to grow up into a woman with her mother’s beauty and her father’s courage. Ashara named her dead daughter Nymeria, after the great Rhoynish warrior queen who had conquered Dorne, and was only able to lay a brief kiss on the baby’s cold lips before the Silent Sisters took her away, never to be seen again. 

Ashara Dayne had been utterly crushed by the world. She was no longer the laughing maid of the False Spring, but was a hardened woman of winter. Perhaps I would have done well as the Lady of Winterfell she thought to herself. There’s nothing left inside me but a cold heart of ice.

However, when Lord Varys came that night, he offered her the chance at a new hope, a new life. 

She remembered their encounter as if it had happened only the night before. Lord Varys sat a table, sipping at a glass of Arbor Gold. Ashara had forgone the wine, and did not look at the eunuch, but instead stared out a window into the black of night. She rested a hand on her still-swollen stomach, half-hoping to feel a baby kicking back at her touch. 

“I don’t understand, my lord. Elia was killed moons ago, Elia and her babes.” The thought of their deaths brought vomit to the back of her throat. Sweet Rhaenys, who at three was beginning to turn from a toddler into her own little person, always ready with kisses and smiles, so taken with that ugly black kitten that she had proudly christened Balerion, after the dragon of her ancestor Aegon the Conqueror. Rhaeyns had been pulled out from under her father’s bed, where she had run and hidden and thought herself safe, and was stabbed half a hundred times. Aegon, a babe still on the breast, as innocent as his mother and his sister, had his head bashed against a wall, leaving his face unrecognizable. And Elia, dear Elia. Elia, her closest companion since they were both girls, Elia whose frail body hid the steely resolve and fierce loyalty within, was dead after being raped by a monster whose hands were covered with the brains of her baby son. It was all too much for her to comprehend.

“I have saved the boy, my dear lady. It was all I ruse. I was afraid that the Lannisters would turn, and I knew that Lord Tywin would have no scruples about killing the children. If I could have saved all three of them, I would have. But Prince Aegon was the easiest, you see, just a babe that looked like every other babe in the world. I found a tanner, a man whose wife had died and had far too many sons to feed. I bought his baby, gave the boy to Elia, and took Aegon out of King’s Landing, out of Westeros. He is alive, Lady Ashara. He is safe.”

Ashara had trouble believing the Spider’s words. 

“Aegon is alive? He is safe? Where?”

“Pentos, my lady, with my friend Magister Illyrio. He will be safe there for a time, but Illyrio has written and told me that as the babe gets older, the Targaryen features are coming in stronger. He has the silver-gold hair, and the violet eyes. He will look as strong a Targaryen as any, and Illyrio has too many connections with Westeros for my comfort. Questions will be asked about him, and I want to keep him safe, and hidden. He can only come into his true throne if no one knows he exists.”

Ashara had still been puzzled by Varys’s words and his purpose. “And what has this to do with me?”

Varys smiled the sickly sweet smile he was known for. “He is your dearest friend’s son. He is an orphan, with no one to love him or care for him. He needs a mother-figure to teach him, to care for him, to give him the love that he lacks. Aegon will be raised to be the perfect king, my lady, and you can help him. You can teach him the ways of the Seven, and of Westeros, and of the greater world. I have heard you are very learned, even for a noblewoman.”

Ashara nodded. When she was a girl, she sometimes mused that if she had been born male, she would perhaps go to the Citadel, and become a maester. She was gifted at her studies, and new more about Westerosi history than anyone she knew, male or female. She was adept at several languages, and a pious phase right after her first flowering had given her an ample knowledge of the Seven. If she could be of any help, being a tutor of sorts could be a start.

She fingered the windowsill thoughtfully, then turned back to Varys. “And how will I make the excuse that I need to leave here and go to Pentos? Won’t that be suspicious, my lord?”

Varys smiled again. “And that, my lady, is why you have me.”

The plan had been made and executed that very night. Lord Varys smuggled her out of Starfall, and, she presumed, started rumors at Starfall, in Dorne, and in King’s Landing that Lady Ashara had thrown herself into the sea in mourning of her brother, or her baby. As the rumor spread, the details were muddled, until there was no truth in any of it.

Ashara adopted her new identity almost immediately. Because her speech betrayed her noble birth, Ashara was given the guise of Lemore, the daughter of a minor landed knight, and was sent to a motherhouse in Oldtown, where, to her surprise, no one questioned her identity. Her dark hair was common enough, and in her grief, her face had begun to change. The once-laughing purple eyes had dulled due to the crushing weight of her sadness, and unless you stared closely at her face (none of the other septas did), they appeared to be a dark blue. She began getting lines around her face and mouth, aging her nearly ten years in only a matter of months. It was easy enough to say that Ashara Dayne was well and truly dead, and Septa Lemore was alive and well.

She bid her time in the motherhouse for three years, praying and living piously and trying not to stand out among the other septas. She liked being Lemore; there was little pressure in it. There had always been too much pressure as Lady Ashara. While she would never be the same carefree maid as she once had been, she also learned to laugh again. Lemore was almost always in a good humor; it was the only thing that got her through the days when the sadness of Lady Ashara’s life crept back upon her. She enjoyed her time at the motherhouse, but gladly left its confines when she received a letter from Lord Varys that simply read “It is time,” and gave her the name of a captain to seek out on a particular date.

It was a long journey to the final destination; Oldtown to Braavos to Pentos, and then to the home of Magister Illyrio, where she finally was able to meet Aegon, who was then a tiny boy of three. The boy had captured her heart immediately- he was as sweet as his sister had been, as smart as his father, and had the curious energy that almost all little boys possess. She had always been more to him than simply a tutor; she had tried to be as motherly as possible to him, kissing away his tears, singing him to sleep at night, brushing the silver-gold hair from his face as he slept. She told him stories about all of the great knights of Westeros, from the Age of Heroes to the present day: Symeon Star-Eyes, Aegon the Conqueror, Aegon the Dragonknight, and of course, her personal favorite, her brother, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. The boy loved the stories, and was always pretending to be one of them. “Look at me! I’m a knight!” You are more than a knight, my love she always thought. You will be a king.

After three years at Illyrio’s manse, Varys came again, and she accompanied him and the boy to meet another surprising member of their little pseudo-family: Jon Connington, an old friend of Rhaegar’s. Connington had to recognize her; even with her aging, she was unmistakable to someone who had known her closely. Yet he never said anything that gave away her true identity; he never once addressed her as “Ashara,” only “Septa,” “Lemore,” or simply “my lady.” Indeed, he treated her with something that indicated that he misliked her. She theorized that his hard feelings toward her were in reaction to his contempt for her brother; she had always thought that Connington was jealous of Arthur’s close relationship with Prince Rhaegar. Arthur was Rhaegar’s best friend and closest confidant, and Connington had been only a friend, not close in any stretch of the imagination. 

The years on the Shy Maid passed quickly enough. In time, they were joined by Haldon, a man who had left the Citadel without completing his chain, and Rolly Duckfield, a master-of-arms, of sorts, for Aegon, who was growing quickly and needed to learn to be skilled at swordplay. She taught Aegon of the mysteries of the Faith, taught him all the languages that she knew and more, and helped him to become adept in the history of Westeros (which he liked) and his sums and geometry (which he loathed). He was a smart lad, and although he would much rather play at swords with Duck or go swimming in the Rhoyne than have lessons, he was a quick study and an easy pupil. Lemore had enjoyed watching him grow from the sweet boy she met in Pentos to a tall, confident, and good-humored young man. He knew nothing of Lemore’s past except for the fact that she was “a spoiled septa,” and he often joked that she and Haldon, or perhaps she and Griff (as Jon Connington was known) should have a good fuck, to put the often-sullen men in better moods. Lemore would laugh heartily and give the prince a good push on the arm; she had not loved a man, not since Brandon, and she was a true septa now, besides, sworn to be wedded only to the Faith. In any course, she doubted that Haldon had any interest in a woman like her, and about Griff… there had been... rumors… in Westeros that Jon Connington was perhaps not interested in bedding women. Perhaps that is why he was so jealous of my brother’s relationship with Rhaegar. 

All in all, life as Lemore the Spoiled Septa was not a bad one. It was certainly brighter than the life Ashara Dayne would have lived, had she remained at Starfall. Even when Lemore was still Ashara, there were rumors about her “illness,” as she had called it when she was taken to bed before the baby was born. If the truth got out, it would be disastrous. Her father was long-dead, but her eldest brother was Lord of Starfall, and he was as proud and steadfast as her late father had been. Most Dornish were liberal on the matters of sex (the Red Viper of Dorne, Elia’s younger brother, had a whole host of bastard daughters), her brother was different. He would not have held with a sister who had given birth to a Northerner’s bastard, and would have married her to anyone, anyone, who would take a spoiled woman to wife. She had always considered it lucky that she fled when she did; old weasel-like Walder Frey’s fifth (or was it sixth?) wife had died shortly before, and she knew that the Late Lord Frey would be perfectly willing to wed a woman such as herself, as long as she was pretty enough, had a good pair of teats, and could bear him a score of ugly children. She shuddered at THAT thought. 

But it was a good life, with Griff and Young Griff and the company of the Shy Maid, traversing up and down the Rhoyne. There was a rustic quality to it, and even hints of danger at times. Lemore enjoyed it, and hoped that Griff and Varys’s plotting to make the boy a king could wait for a few more years, just so she could keep the life she had come to love.   
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days after Duck and Haldon left to meet the Fat Man’s litter on the road, Lemore began her day as she always did, with a bath in the waters of the Rhoyne. Despite all that she did to try to suppress her true identity, she was still a daughter of Dorne, and the Dornish were famous for their lack of propriety when it came to matters of sex and nakedness. Each morning, she stripped out of her plain robe, and climbed naked into the cool water. Occasionally she caught Haldon, or Duck, or even Young Griff looking at her body. The boy had never seen a woman in the nude before; it was natural for him to be curious. She had to admit, it gave her a bit of a thrill, to see how her body excited the men. Perhaps that was a remnant of the naughtiness that Ashara had become known for as a young woman. She remembered doing the same to Elia’s brothers when they went swimming- Doran, ever proper, always turned away, but Oberyn always stared greedily, as if he wanted to take her then and there. He had taken her maidenhood when she was fourteen, but unlike so many other women, he had never planted a bastard in her belly. Only Brandon did that.

Lemore glanced to the roof of the boat, where Young Griff was lounging and staring at her with a playful smile on his face. 

“Don’t stare too hard at my teats, boy, they’re old enough to have given Griff himself suck!”

Young Griff laughed heartily. He was always Young Griff, here above deck. Never Aegon.

“I’m sure you’ve given Griff suck before! Griff and Duck and especially Haldon. They can’t resist your womanly wiles. I would have trouble resisting them too, but for the fact that you’re like my mother.”

Lemore smiled, then glanced down at her reflection in the water. Ashara would have been horrified at how old she looked, with the wrinkles at the mouth and at the corners of her eyes. She would have cringed at the sagging breasts, and at the stretch marks and loose skin that marred her stomach. The only thing that I have left of my little Nymeria. But Lemore liked what she saw; it made her look less like Ashara, more like Lemore. She still thought herself a handsome woman, despite the imperfections. Had she continued living as Ashara, she might have made a great lady someday, even for a weasel like Walder Frey. 

Lemore finished her bath then made her way to the boat, where she donned her grey robe. Young Griff bounded off the roof easily to join her. He had the reflexes of a cat, as all young men do.

She was tall for a woman, but he was already a hand taller than her and still growing, and she had to look up at him to talk to him.

“Sums today, I think. It’s been too long since we’ve done sums.”

Young Griff grimaced. “Bah, I hate sums. I don’t know why I should learn how to do them, when I’m king I’ll just have someone else do them for me. That’s what I think I’ll like most about being king. I can do everything that I want to do, but whenever I don’t want to do something I can just order someone else to do it.”

Lemore gave him a light slap on the side of his face. He was in an arrogant mood. As wonderful of a person as he was, he did have his faults. A quick and flaming temper, an immaturity that Griff called “acting a boy,” and, most dangerous, a certain arrogance, particularly when he had been brooding about his future position and power.

“I will not have you saying such things. Robert Baratheon didn’t like ruling, he only liked whoring and hunting and fighting. So he left the ruling to others, and he whored and hunted and fought his kingdom into the ground. You’re playing the boy with me, and I won’t have that. I won’t have that at all.”

The boy rubbed his jaw, and Lemore could tell that he was trying to calm his temper and prevent an outburst.

“I’m just so damned bored!” he exclaimed. “I hate being moored like this. I would rather be paddling down the river or riding off with Duck and Haldon to meet Illyrio.”

“You know Griff just wants to protect you. There are countless things that can befall you on the road.”

Young Griff ran a hand through his hair. “Griff acts like I’m still a boy. I’m a man grown, I’ve been a man grown for a year. When he was my age he was fighting in tourneys and winning glory and fucking girls. I’ve never even been off this boat. I should just cut my cock off and wear a dress, because I’m practically a maiden.”

Lemore seriously doubted that Jon Connington had ever fucked a girl, even as a young man. She patted the boy on the arm with a motherly affection.

“Haldon and Duck will be back soon, with the friend the Spider has sent us. Then we’ll be off again, down the Rhoyne to Volantis. We’ll get a ship in Volantis, then head to Meereen, where we’ll meet your aunt and make a marriage alliance with her. After you’re married you can couple with her to your heart’s desire, and make as many brave little princes and beautiful little princesses as you want. She’s a widow, and the widow of a Dothraki. I’m sure that she has all the experience that you lack.”

With her last statement Aegon blushed; as bawdy as he could be about her and Haldon, he became embarrassed when the topic of HIM coupling with anyone came up. 

“I’ve told you before, it’s not her that I want, it’s the dragons. I need those dragons, if I want to win my throne. The only way I’ll get the dragons is if I have her. I’ll do what I need to do… as a husband… to make heirs and secure the dynasty. But that’s not what I’m going to Meereen to do.”

Lemore gave him a reassuring smile. “I was just having a bit of humor with you, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But, one more thing…” 

She looked at him full in the face, so that he could see the seriousness in her eyes.

“Don’t wish so hard for battle. I know that you don’t want to hear that, because all young men of seventeen dream of fighting in battle. I had a brother who was like that. He was good, and brave, and true, but he lived to fight. And fight he did- he became a good knight… no, a great knight. But he fought and fought and then he died. And there’s nothing left of him but his sword and his bones. You’ll be fighting soon enough, trust me. Perhaps in Meereen, if your aunt doesn’t take to us as kindly as we hope. And then in Westeros, where you will fight for your throne. You’ll fight with steel and you’ll fight with dragons. Your men will die for you, under your command. Perhaps you will die without even gaining the throne. Enjoy this carefree time on the Rhoyne while you can, because it is coming to an end. The real challenge, the real war is just beginning.”


	5. The Young Dragon II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugor Hill aka Tyrion Lannister finally makes his appearance!

Haldon and Duck had been nearly two weeks gone on their quest to meet Illyrio and their mysterious “new friend,” and Aegon was nearly out of his mind with boredom. The Shy Maid remained moored on the banks of the Little Rhoyne, not far from the ruined city of Ghoyan Drohe. It was a bleak and nasty place to be moored, full of flies and mud and foul smells. There was little to do; he tried to go exploring in Ghoyan Drohe, but he found the ruins to be as dull as staying near the boat. What he really wanted to do was fight, but with Duck gone he had no one to spar with, as Griff refused to play at swords. He’s turning into such an old man, Aegon thought. I can’t believe that some say he was once a great warrior. He loved his foster father more than words could say, but he was more and more often to find himself grated by Jon Connington’s stifling protectiveness and tendency towards avoiding action or conflict. Griff said that the older Aegon became, the more he was acting like a spoiled and willful child, but Aegon knew the truth of the matter- he was no longer the pliant boy that he had once been, but was a man grown with his own ideas and plans of action. He knew what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it, and had half a mind to go about his plans alone, Griff be damned. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind- Griff was too good to him, and he loved him far too much to betray the man like that.

Aegon continued his studies with Lemore, and could remain interested during lessons of history and lore, but became restless when she made him work at sums and geometry. He hated sums, and he hated geometry more. During THOSE lessons, he became gruff and temperamental, and more oft than not the septa allowed him to cut the lesson short and go about his day as he wished, rather than face his foul temper any more than she had too. Perhaps being a boy sometimes isn’t too terrible. 

Aegon would play cyvasse with anyone who would take the time to challenge him, whether it be Lemore or Griff or Yandry, and found that he won more often than not. The trick was to put his dragon out in front. It was a bold, brave move with big risks, but Aegon trusted in it completely, as it could also bring a swift victory. This is how I will take the Iron Throne he thought. I’ll put my dragons out in front, and it will bring the swift, sweet victory that I’ve always wanted. 

On this particular day, Aegon had made his way to the woods along the bank of the river with a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a crudely drawn target on a piece of Haldon’s parchment. While he was a good swordsman, his archery needed work, and one of the few things that he enjoyed about being moored so long was the opportunity to improve his archery skills. When he was younger he would often get upset about the difficulty that he had as an archer, but Griff reassured him that he need only be an average archer; as king he would have thousands upon thousands of archers in his service. But Aegon wanted to be a good archer- he needed to be adept at all manners of arms, from swords to bow to crossbow, and he could only count on one hand the number of times that he had fired a crossbow. I’ll have time, once we reach Meereen. 

He repeatedly notched, drew, and released, and when his quiver was empty he gathered the arrows and began again. More arrows hit the target than missed, but by the time Griff came to find him, after over an hour of practice, sweat was running down his forehead and stinging his eyes, and he was having trouble seeing the target. His linen shirt was soaked through under his heavy leather doublet, and he was admittedly quite miserable. 

“You’re improving, I can tell. I’ve watched you for a while. You’re hitting more than missing now, and your form is better. You’re more relaxed. That’s good.”

Aegon smiled at Griff before stripping off his doublet and shirt. “If how much a man sweats is indicative of the effort he puts in, then I must be the hardest-working man alive. I look as if I’ve been in the water!”

Griff smiled slightly. “I’ll help you gather the arrows, but we’d best be back on the boat. Yandry said that he spotted riders upon the road. Duck and Haldon may be returning with our… friend.”

Aegon caught Griff’s lip curling at the mention of the friend. Perhaps he misliked the idea of a new person infiltrating their little party. Griff was extraordinarily protective, and he was never truly relaxed around anyone, excepting Aegon, and only when they were alone in their own cabin. He never really particularly warmed to Lemore, and Lemore had been with Aegon even longer than Griff had!

Aegon quickly gathered the arrows, put back on the wet shirt, and covered himself with a wide-brimmed straw hat to keep the sun off of his face. He had heard that his mother’s family, the Martells, were of a darker complexion and grew nut-brown in the Dornish sun. Aegon was himself half-Martell, but none of it showed up in his skin. He was pale-skinned and prone to turning red after a long day in the sun, and he tried to protect himself with hats and clothing when he could. He climbed to the roof of the boat and waited, until he saw Duck and Haldon approaching with another person, a much smaller person. Did Illyrio send us a child? 

He stood up on the roof and waved his hat wildly. “Duck! Haldon! Good morrow, my friends!”

He jumped down excitedly from the roof, where he helped his companions onto the ship. He saw that they had come with boxes and boxes of supplies. Illyrio never forgets, that’s for certain! 

Upon closer inspection, he realized that the “friend” that Illyrio had sent was not a child, but a dwarf. He was half Aegon’s height, with blonde hair, a scraggly beard, mismatched green and black eyes, and, most shockingly, a huge scar that ran diagonally across most of his face. The scar was bad enough, but Aegon then saw that the man was missing his nose. First to be cursed as a dwarf, then to be cursed with that horrid scar… I almost feel sorry for the man. 

The dwarf looked at him and sneered. “Have you never seen a dwarf before, boy? Or perhaps you’ve just never seen a dwarf so ugly as me.”

Aegon found that his words had left him, and he could do little but stammer “No… no… I… I’m sorry….”

The man gave a bitter laugh. “Keep your mouth closed. You’re a comely lad but you don’t want women to think you’re stupid. It would ruin everything for them. That and your horrid blue hair.”

Aegon cleared his throat, and asked, “Who in seven hells are you?”

The man laughed again. “I? I am Hugor Hill, also known as Yollo, also known as The Ugliest Dwarf to Walk the Earth. I come from Lannisport, in the Westerlands of the Seven Kingdoms. I’m a drunkard and a bastard and utterly useless to you. Who are YOU, my pretty boy with the blue hair?”

Aegon narrowed his eyes at the dwarf, this Hugor Hill or Yollo or whatever else he wanted to be called. He misliked him, not just for the insult about his hair or the fact that he called him a pretty boy, but there was something about those mismatched eyes. They were shifty.

“I’m Griff, but most know me as Young Griff, to set me apart from my father, who’s the real Griff. My father’s Westerosi, but my mother came from Tyrosh, and dyed her hair blue, as is the fashion in that land. She died birthing me, so Griff and I dye our hair blue to honor her memory. I’m not from anywhere, unless you count this pole boat to be a place.”

The last statement he made was a fact. Aegon truly was from nowhere. He was born on Dragonstone, and was in King’s Landing when Lord Varys smuggled him out of the city, but he had left Westeros when he was less than a year old, and had no memory of it. He remembered bits and pieces of Pentos, where he had lived in Illyrio’s manse, but the only home he had truly known was the Shy Maid. Westeros will be my home again, once I become King. I’ll die there an old man, surrounded by my children and grandchildren.

“Do you by chance happen to have a skin of wine?” Hugor asked. “I love my wine, you see, but your friends Rolly and the Halfmaester wouldn’t let me imbibe like I’m used to. Over a week with no wine. It was truly terrible for me.”

Aegon shook his head. “We don’t hold with drunkards here on the Shy Maid. Mayhaps a cup of wine at dinner, but you cannot drink enough to get senselessly drunk. The Rhoyne is different than the open sea. You always have to be on guard, for river pirates and stone men and creatures of the water.” When he was thirteen, he had once gotten drunk with Duck, and became so sick that of course Griff found out and was furious. No wine was allowed on the Shy Maid for over a year after that folly.

The dwarf groaned. “The gods truly are punishing me for my misdeeds.” 

Duck, who was helping Haldon load the cargo onto the boat, stopped to look at Hugor. “I think the gods are punishing us all, my bastard friend.”

Hugor smiled woefully, then asked Aegon, “Where is your father, this Griff that Illyrio has told me to seek out?”

“He’d be in his cabin, most like. I’ll show you the way.”

After he lead Hugor Hill to his father’s cabin, Aegon helped Duck and Haldon load the remaining cargo onto the boat. Illyrio had given strict instructions that one particular chest was not to be opened until they were a few days’ sail from Meereen, and only then, no sooner.

Dinner was their typical fare: greasy sausages and Ysilla’s fresh-baked bread, with a cup of wine that Illyrio had sent in one of the chests.

“Did Haldon know that there was wine in the chests? Hugor Hill told me that Haldon refused to let him drink any,” Aegon asked Duck as they sat upon the roof of the Shy Maid, watching the as the last tendrils of sunlight drifted across the Little Rhoyne.

Duck laughed. “Of course he knew, but Illyrio warned us that the dwarf was a drunk. He drank almost all of Illyrio’s wine, and you know how much wine the fat man has in that manse. He wanted us to sober him up, so that he can be of better help to you.”

“I don’t know what help a drunken dwarf will be to me.” Aegon said. “He himself said he was utterly useless. Is this some kind of game the Spider and the Fat Man are playing with us?”

“No, I don’t think so. If there’s one thing that they want, it’s for you to take your throne.”

“Hmmm.” Aegon said thoughtfully. Sometimes it seemed as if Lord Varys wanted the Iron Throne more than Aegon did. Sometimes Aegon wanted it so badly that he thought he would break, while others he was content to live on the pole boat forever. But he wanted it now. He wanted the throne, and the dragons.

“Yandry says we’ll be setting off tomorrow.” Duck told him. “If we don’t run into too much trouble, we should be in Volantis in one and a half moon turns.” 

“We could be there in less than a moon’s turn if Yandry wasn’t so cautious. I wouldn’t mind sailing at night, just so we could make better time,” Aegon answered. The Shy Maid’s captain never sailed at night- too dangerous, he said. They always sailed all day, then moored at night. Aegon didn’t usually mind, because they usually had nowhere important to go. Usually down the Little Rhoyne to the junction with the Upper Rhoyne and then down to Volantis upon the Summer Sea, then back up, either to the Little Rhoyne, where they were now, or up again and on to Norvos. But now they needed to get to Volantis, and get to Volantis quickly. A ship was waiting for them there, a ship that would take them to Meereen. To Daenerys and her dragons.

“We’ll get there when we get there, don’t work yourself up over what you can’t change. You’ll have your aunt’s cunt before you know it.” Dunk laughed. “I know that’s all you really want! Her beauty is legendary, I’ve heard.”

Aegon shoved him. “I want the dragons and you know it.” 

He did want the dragons, more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. But Daenerys wouldn’t be a bad prize, either. He had heard tales of her breathtaking beauty and kindness to the weak; she was apparently freeing slaves all over Slavers’ Bay. But he had heard that she was no shy girl either, but was steadfast in her plans and could be downright cruel to those who threatened her. He hoped that she would like him, or would at least listen to him, and not burn him on the spot. 

He had dreamed of her again, two nights ago. He woke quietly this time, and Griff had blessedly remained asleep. Holding the vision of her in his mind, he undid his breeches, pulled out his hard member, and stroked himself until he reached his pleasure, burying his head in the pillow to prevent himself from crying out and waking Griff. It had been too long since he had released like this, and it felt good, so good. He knew that the only way it could feel better was if he spilled his seed inside of her, instead of on his own hand. It will be much less messy that way he thought as he had crept over to the wash basin to clean off his hand and his still-throbbing penis.

“I’m restless, is all,” he told Duck. “I feel as if I’ve been sitting around my whole life, doing nothing. But I have the opportunity to act now, to make something of myself. It’s just the waiting that I find so difficult. I’m ready to take back my kingdom.”


End file.
